


While You Were Travelling

by KayleeArafinwiel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: A new Reborn comes to Tirion, unheralded, unlooked for. Who is she, and why was she unclaimed?(Unofficial sequel to Fiondil's "Elf Interrupted" 1&2, in his "Valar-verse", and written in his honor.)





	1. Prologue: Milyeanyel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fiondil](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Fiondil).



> Written for the 2017 B2MEM event's Red Path. In progress.

The eldest daughter of Finwë could be found, most days, gazing out the window that faced toward Tirion. Valandur had been away, doing some work for the High King, and though she knew he was near, knew he would return, her heart still ached after so many separations.   
“You are troubled, Cousin.”

Findis did not bother to look round. She knew Ingwion was behind her even ere he spoke. “I am,” she agreed quietly. “I would fain have Valandur return to me. I know my brother will not scorn him, and yet…”

“And yet.” Ingwion nodded, his blue eyes darkening with fell emotion she could or would not name. “You fear for Val’s safe return?”

“I fear for his – our – freedom, every time he must needs go to Tirion,” Findis sighed. “If something were to happen…”

“It has happened before,” Ingwion said quietly. “But Ari is not Fëanáro, nor even…” He snapped his mouth shut, a stab of pain slicing his wounded fëa anew.   
“Nor even that one,” Findis agreed, giving Ingwion a cousinly kiss. “Did you need me for something, Ingwi?”  
“Ah.” Ingwion pushed his old pain away, trying to clear his mind. “I was wondering if you might join me for a picnic, Findis? It is Valanya, after all, and Atar has gone to pay his respects to Lord Manwë. I thought we could both use some time outside these four walls.”

“What a Noldorin thing to say,” Findis said wryly, a glimmer of humour in her eyes even as she nodded assent to the plan. “Is Vanyamar too confining for you, Ingwi?”  
Ingwion laughed. He laughed because he had got Findis to smile, because despite the pain of old separations and betrayals, they could still smile at each other, and Findis, for all she was Finwë’s daughter, was Vanyarin through and through. She was resilient. Together, the cousins could conquer their pasts.  
Valandur had been right. Ingwion silently blessed the King’s spymaster for seeing into Findis’ heart, asking Ingwion to keep company with her while Val was gone. Solitude was too much for them – and in the end, perhaps of all their family, only they could fully comprehend what the other had truly lost.   
Alone together, they might have the freedom to grieve.


	2. Daughter of the Golden Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Tirion, the once-Queen of the Noldor (however briefly), makes a surprising discovery.

“What dost thou here, child?”

Glóredhel stirred, blinking up at the regal woman who stood over her, not understanding her speech at first. The last thing she could remember was leaving the Gardens of Lórien alone, walking through the Great Gates of Return unwelcomed. She had accepted it as her due, for was she not one of the Cursed, born of the Noldolië? 

She had walked on and on, uncaring whither she went, but feeling her steps guided all the same. Somehow, Glóredhel thought – unable to remember quite how – she had climbed the great hill and ended up here.

Where was ‘here’? Blinking again – and why had she slept with her eyes closed? – she focused on her surroundings for the first time. The tiered city with its central tower gave her a feeling of rightness, of home. 

“Gondolin,” Glóredhel whispered. “This is… Gondolin?” she asked her companion, pushing on before she could formulate any answer. “No…Gondolin is…dead. I…I died. This is…” She huddled against the Tower of Ingwë, all unknowing. 

Anairë stared in shock. Who was this child? She shook her head. Gondolin. Well, that name certainly meant something to her, for other Reborn had spoken of the Hidden City. And then there was Laurefindil…She looked more closely at the younger elleth, wondering. Could it be…

“O child, who art thou?” she asked, forcing herself to speak in the halting Sindarin she knew. She looked the younger elleth over, wanting to weep. “Thou hast the golden tresses of my beloved’s kin, and are no Sinda, I deem.”

“Im estannen Glóredhel…hiril nin,” came the shy reply. “Laurelda,” she tried, though Quenya was still strange to her. “Laurelda…Laurefindiliel.”

“Laurefindil!” Anairë gasped. Laurefindil had been Turucáno’s loyal friend and heart-brother, as well as cousin, being a grandson of Finwë and Indis, but he was now the Valar’s emissary in Endorë. Who knew when, if ever, he would return? 

Glóredhel nodded anxiously. “Is…is that…pleasing to my lady?” she asked in halting Quenya.

“I am thine Aunt Anairë, child,” Anairë replied in the same language, slowly, so the child could follow. She raised Glóredhel to her feet, giving her the kiss of close kin. “Let there be no titles between us.” She would give this forlorn child a home, and a purpose, until her atar returned to claim her.


	3. At The Rose and Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Valandur enters the picture, and settles in to discuss business...

Lord Valandur Voronwion made his way down Tirion’s streets to the Rose and Crown, a favourite inn of his that he often frequented with his Noldorin otornor while on visits to Tirion. He wasn’t dressed as a lord today, however. Valandur had been attending a convocation of the lambengolmor, the loremasters of all three clans, and so he wore a loremaster’s robe with silver braid on the shoulder. If it was made of somewhat finer material than the robe he had worn at his first convocation, it still served its purpose, proclaiming him a Master of Languages to those who knew what the silver braiding meant.

The innkeeper gave him a low bow, offering him the best table, guaranteeing finest Tirion white, along with a plate of their best fish, and though Valandur would have liked nothing better than to get up to his room, bathe, and rest, he sighed and allowed the posturing until it became tiresome. “Master Calalindo, might I pass, please? You need not bow to me like that; I am not Ingwë, or even Arafinwë,” he muttered. “I only wish to rest, I will eat later.” The Noldo didn’t seem to hear him, until…

“Did you not hear my brother, seldo?” The elven woman who had come up behind Calalindo and Valandur made both jump with her remark, and Calalindo even took a step back, paling. Valandur castigated himself for being so tired as to not hear the former Noldotári’s footfalls. He turned and smiled wearily. “Anairë, sister, I have never been so glad to see you.”

Anairë snorted good-naturedly. “No doubt, hanno,” she retorted, shaking her head. “But doubtless you will be even gladder of a bath and a glass of wine at least. Laurelda, here, will need some food and rest herself.” 

Valandur had seen the golden-haired young one by now, but hadn’t realised she was with Anairë. “Where did you find her, nettenya?” he asked.   
“Huddling at the foot of Ingwe’s Tower, looking lost to the world. She says she is Laurefindil’s child.”

“She’s what?” Valandur’s eyes widened. “Yes, I think I will take you up on that Tirion white after all, Master Calalindo.” Ale would be even better, he thought.

“After a bath,” Anairë insisted, but she allowed Calalindo to take her and Glóredhel to a table at least. There was time enough to see the child fed before returning to the palace – and fed she was, feasting on flaky white fish in a creamy sauce, and peach juice. Anairë had the same, and made a point of eating the fresh vegetables that came with the fish as well. When Glóredhel balked, Anairë gave her a stern look.

“Laurelda, did thine atto never teach thee to eat thy vegetables?”

“My name is Glóredhel, Auntie, and ada didn’t like vegetables, I think,” was the reply. Anairë, remembering the Reborn Balrog-slayer, had to concede that was true. “And what said thine ammë of it?”

“Vegetables are stupid.” 

“Enough, child,” Anairë replied. “You must eat them.”

“I hate them.”

“Laurelda.”

“I won’t! And you’re not my nana, you can’t make me.” 

And who was Laurelda’s ammë, Anairë wondered. Well, that remained to be seen. She couldn’t wait for Valandur to return, so they could sort out the matter of this stubborn child.


	4. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following “At the Rose and Crown”, we continue the adventure of Glorfindel’s child and her keepers.

Valandur entered the common room of the inn to find a new song being struck up. The song was really a poem by some obscure Vanyarin poet, but here it was being sung as a lay in praise of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda. He listened to the first few verses intently before joining Anairë’s table. 

The day is done, and the darkness  
Falls from the wings of Night,  
As a feather is wafted downward  
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village  
Gleam through the rain and the mist,  
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me  
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,  
That is not akin to pain,  
And resembles sorrow only  
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,  
Some simple and heartfelt lay,  
That shall soothe this restless feeling,  
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,  
Not from the bards sublime,  
Whose distant footsteps echo  
Through the corridors of Time…

Valandur’s gaze found the Noldorin minstrel who was performing the lay, and they shared a discreet look. Yes, one of his; he’d thought so. Calamiron would speak with him later, surely. He feigned disinterest then, and turned to the berry tart and cream which had been brought out meantime. He noticed only Anairë was partaking, and gave the child a measured look. “Laurelda – “ 

“Glóredhel,” the elleth seethed, scowling.

“Glóredhel,” Valandur corrected himself. “Why do you not eat?”

“Auntie Anaire said I couldn’t because I didn’t want vegetables.” 

Valandur sighed, exasperated. “Really, hina, and why did you not want them?” he asked.

“Ada said I didn’t have to.” She paused. “I think he said that.” She met Valandur’s eyes with a look that was suddenly filled with pain and loss. “I want my ada,” she whispered. “Where’s Ada? Why was he not there to greet me? Why was no one there?” She began weeping, and Valandur rose, gathering Glóredhel in his embrace. 

“Those are excellent questions, hina, and though I cannot answer all of them, I can answer one. But I will only do so if you calm yourself,” Valandur said. He ordered a goblet of warm spiced milk for Glóredhel and one for himself as well, eschewing the wine he had wished for so fervently before.

Glóredhel sipped at the milk, savouring the taste of honey and cinnamon in the frothy drink. “I’m s-sorry,” she whispered once her tears had slowed. “I must be bad. They said I had to be punished for being so bad. That’s why, isn’t it? That’s why no one came.”

Valandur very carefully did not slam his goblet on the table. “O hina, who told you such lies?” he asked.

“In Lórien,” she whispered, sniffling. “The…the…” She shook her head. “Some elves.” She hadn’t known them.

“You are not bad, child, and you are not to blame for what happened long years before you were ever begotten,” Valandur said firmly. “I cannot tell you why none waited to greet you, but I do know this, it was nothing you did wrong.” And he fully intended to find out who ‘some elves’ had been, and to bring them before the Valar, if not the kings.

With that decided, he took Glóredhel up to bed and tucked her in. Time enough to return to the palace on the morrow – tonight, he had a minstrel to speak with.


End file.
